The Meaning of Blood
by eck
Summary: Immortality can be a gift or a curse...but some bonds run deeper than blood. **TTT SPOILER*


**((Author's Note: I know I should be working on "Dreams Fade with the Dawn" but I really had to write this…*guilty smile* Hope you like it…))**

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**The Meaning of Blood**

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_(Legolas' Point of View) (Takes place right after Helm's Deep)_

The battle was over.  The sun had risen in the East and Gandalf had come to save us all.  Just in time, some might say. But for me it was too late.

I sat next to Haldir's still body, my hands holding his bow.  I had found the body and bow on the stairs.  Somehow, he had escaped the mutilation that most of the victims had received.  For that, I was grateful.  I had not moved him from where I had found him, almost as if I wished him to get back up and get up walk into the Deep alone.

If I did not look at the brutal wound in his side and back, I could imagine he was alive.  If I pretended not to notice the blood in a puddle around him, I could say I was guarding over him while he slept, instead of mourning over his body.

I stroked the bow gently, feeling the excellent craftsmanship.  The string was taut, just waiting for its master to once again place an arrow on it. Only he never would.

Haldir had been one of my greatest friend in the long centuries I have lived. He was a few hundred years older, old enough to boss me around and teach me how to shoot my bow. He was my hero, my mentor, my confidant, my older brother. And now he was dead before me and neither he nor I could do anything to change that tragic fact. It was written in cold stone, just like the stone he laid upon.

For the first time I noticed the cut on my finger. I must have received it some time during the fight. It was small, only about an inch long and it was already scabbing over.  Tiredly, I rubbed at the dried blood feeling the slight burning as I tore newly healing skin.  The scab flaked off into my fingers and drops of blood appeared on my fingers.

Lifting my hand up to the sky, I studied the crimson liquid as the sun reflected off of it.  The warm liquid ran down between my hand and traced a path down my arm, beneath my tunic.

Immortal. This blood made me immortal. Different from the rest of Middle Earth's children.  We were the First Born.  The ones who saw the beginning and would see the end of this land.

I looked down at my friend's still body and the blood surrounding it.  Reaching down, I placed my bloodied hand by the blood of Haldir. It was the same.  The same rusty red color.  It made him immortal, just as it made me immortal.

But he died.

His blood did not help him then. In fact, it had been the death of him. It had left him to fall upon the dirty ground, a final betrayal to the one who had depended on it for so many centuries.

Angrily, I wiped the blood from my fingers and onto my clothes.  For a moment, it seemed as if the bleeding would stop, but then it continued.

Putting it to my lips, I sucked at the blood. Its metallic taste filled my mouth and made me want to gag.

Immortality. A gift a curse. It was bound up in my blood.  Without my blood, my immortality would be void and I would die.  Just as Haldir had died.

My eyes lit up with this new understanding. Blood.  Haldir died because his blood had left.  Perhaps, I could give him mine and then he would live again with his immortality.

So beset I was by this new idea, that I had my dagger drawn and laid upon my wrist before I even realized what I was doing.  For a second, I stared at the cool metal upon my white skin, feeling the sharp bite against my flesh.  How easy it would be to simply draw the blade across and give my blood to my friend.

Then I began to think rationally.  How would I ever get the blood into Haldir's body?

I paused to contemplate this important detail, turning it over in my brain several times and examining it from all ends.

Finally, with a cry, I threw the dagger down.  I dropped my head into my hands. What was I thinking? The giving of my blood would only result in my death, the loss of my immortality.  I could never cause Haldir to once again draw life into his lungs.

It was my fault…I had not protected him.  I should have been there, should have held him when he died, should have warded off the orc when he had been struck down defenseless.

I snatched up the knife again.  There was no reason for me not to give up my blood. There was no reason for me to keep my immortality.

My eyes closed and my eyes itched with approaching tears.  My blood was required for I had spilled the blood of a friend. My immortality was to be taken for I had taken the immortality of a friend.

"Legolas?" Aragorn called from a far off. "Where are you?"

In the end, it was that voice that caused me to drop the knife and to allow my eyes to fill with the long pent up tears.

Lifting my tear-filled eyes, I once again looked upon the still-bleeding scratch on my finger.  My blood made me immortal. My blood made me different.

I turned to look at my long-time friend as he approached me with a weary expression on his face.

His blood made him mortal. His blood was bound to fail him someday. It was expected. It was a natural course of life.  It was dying blood.

But that is not what bound me to him.

No, something deeper, richer, longer lasting the blood bound me to Aragorn.  And I knew that thought Aragorn's blood was dying, this bond would never die, it would never fade away. It was as immortal as I was.

I stood to go meet my friend, allowing myself a small smile as I gently hugged his tired form.  My own heart ached when I saw the tears that lingered in his deep, smoky eyes.

Reaching out, I touched a small bleeding cut upon his face, reprimanding him for being so careless in battle.

He tiredly smiled.

I watched as the blood from my finger dripped into the blood from the cut on his face. 

Mortal and immortal.  Not bound by blood.  But by something deeper.

Mortal and immortal. Bound by friendship.


End file.
